COM.

They are worn, Lord Consul, so

That we shall hardly in our ages see

Their banners wave again.

COR.

Saw you Aufidius?

LART.

On safeguard he came to me, and did curse

Against the Volsces for they had so vildly

Yielded the town. He is retired to Antium.

COR.

Spoke he of me?

LART.

He did, my lord.

COR.

How? What?

LART.

How often he had met you, sword to sword;

That of all things upon the earth he hated

Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes

To hopeless restitution, so he might

Be call'd your vanquisher.

COR.

At Antium lives he?

LART.

At Antium.

COR.

I wish I had a cause to seek him there,

To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.

 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus.

 

Behold, these are the tribunes of the people,

The tongues o' th' common mouth. I do despise them!

For they do prank them in authority,

Against all noble sufferance.

SIC.

Pass no further.

COR.

Hah? what is that?

BRU.

It will be dangerous to go on – no further.

COR.

What makes this change?

MEN.

The matter?

COM.

Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common?

BRU.

Cominius, no.

COR.

Have I had children's voices?

[1.] SEN.

Tribunes, give way, he shall to th' market-place.

BRU.

The people are incens'd against him.

SIC.

Stop,

Or all will fall in broil.

COR.

Are these your herd?

Must these have voices, that can yield them now,

And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices?

You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth?

Have you not set them on?

MEN.

Be calm, be calm.

COR.

It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot,

To curb the will of the nobility.

Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule,

Nor ever will be ruled.

BRU.

Call't not a plot.

The people cry you mock'd them; and of late,

When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd,

Scandall'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them

Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.

COR.

Why, this was known before.

BRU.

Not to them all.

COR.

Have you inform'd them sithence?

BRU.

How? I inform them?

COM.

You are like to do such business.

BRU.

Not unlike

Each way to better yours.

COR.

Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds,

Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me

Your fellow tribune.

SIC.

You show too much of that

For which the people stir. If you will pass

To where you are bound, you must inquire your way,

Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit,

Or never be so noble as a consul,

Nor yoke with him for tribune.

MEN.

Let's be calm.

COM.

The people are abus'd, set on. This palt'ring

Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus

Deserv'd this so dishonor'd rub, laid falsely

I' th' plain way of his merit.

COR.

Tell me of corn!

This was my speech, and I will speak't again –

MEN.

Not now, not now.

[1.] SEN.

Not in this heat, sir, now.

COR.

Now, as I live, I will.

My nobler friends, I crave their pardons.

For the mutable, rank-scented meiny, let them

Regard me as I do not flatter, and

Therein behold themselves. I say again,

In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our Senate

The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,

Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd,

By mingling them with us, the honor'd number,

Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that

Which they have given to beggars.

MEN.

Well, no more.

[1.] SEN.

No more words, we beseech you.

COR.

How? no more?

As for my country I have shed my blood,

Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs

Coin words till their decay against those measles

Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought

The very way to catch them.

BRU.

You speak a' th' people

As if you were a god, to punish; not

A man of their infirmity.

SIC.

'Twere well

We let the people know't.

MEN.

What, what? His choler?

COR.

Choler?

Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,

By Jove, 'twould be my mind!

SIC.

It is a mind

That shall remain a poison where it is;

Not poison any further.

COR.

Shall remain?

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you

His absolute »shall«?

COM.

'Twas from the canon.

COR.

»Shall«?

O [good] but most unwise patricians! why,

You grave but reakless senators, have you thus

Given Hydra here to choose an officer,

That with his peremptory ›shall,‹ being but

The horn and noise o' th' monster's, wants not spirit

To say he'll turn your current in a ditch,

And make your channel his? If he have power,

Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake

Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd,

Be not as common fools; if you are not,

Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians,

If they be senators; and they are no less,

When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste

Most palates theirs.